


Of possessions and perversions

by Liatheus



Category: Gintama
Genre: Action, Attempt at Humor, Demonic Possession, Drama, M/M, Mild breakage of the 4th wall, Rating will change as story progresses, Slow Build, tags will be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liatheus/pseuds/Liatheus
Summary: Katsura gets possessed, and Gintoki cannot deal.





	1. Chapter 1

The thing perches on their couch like a gargoyle, its four shadowy limbs tucked neatly together beneath a strangely translucent black body. Spiky, dragon-like wings span the length of the couch, the outer ends furled slightly inwards in an almost defensive position. The whole thing seems to be made up of some strange lucent dark light, as if a black flame had taken on the shape of a demon. The only set feature within the mass of shadows he can see are two deep pools of gold placed where he assumes the head is, if only because that’s where he’s been looking when he speaks to it.

“E-e-excuse me,” he stammers, definitely not terrified at all by the ghostly apparition sitting in the Yorozuya office. “C-could you re-repeat that? I don’t think I heard correctly…” He grips the cushions of the couch harder and stamps down on the urge to run straight out the door.

The thing reaches out with what is probably an arm, though the shady edges of the limb flicker with the movement, and taps the glowing purple orb it had set on the table between them after it had bypassed the front door, completely disregarding their alarmed expressions, hunkered through their living space and settled itself on their couch. The orb flares neon violet as the sound of electrical crackling fills the air, before the light fades away and a series of growls and hisses echo around the room. He feels Shinpachi and Kagura, sitting on either side of him as per their usual professional configuration on the couch, stiffen at the menacing sounds. Yeah, he’s pissed his pants a bit as well.

The thing performs a questioning head tilt, then leans forward to growl into the orb, a low-pitched rumbling that makes Gintoki shoot straight up onto his feet with a little manly shriek. He’s barely turned his body towards the front door when Kagura’s hand darts out, fists itself in the back of his kimono and yanks him back onto the couch. With the air knocked out of his lungs, he quickly takes a deep breath and is just about to use it to shrilly express his distress at her betrayal, when a  scratchy, withered voice emanates from the orb.

“ _I… would like… to get… me… a sexy… host…_ ”

Surprise intermingles with the fear roiling around in his gut, and he chokes on the air he’s yet to exhale. A violent slap on his back brings it all out in a ragged coughing fit. The force of the blow must have shocked his brain into working again though, because he decides, in a flash of what is clearly Yorozuya-brand brilliance, to pass the whole thing off and over the Shinpachi, who just so happens to take pride in being their most client-considerate member. Still wheezing, he raises his left hand and hits Shinpachi’s back to complete their short Mexican wave of back-slapping, pushing the kid forward in subtle instruction to deal with their latest client. The little tea serving tray that’s been clenched in his hands since the thing stepped into their office snaps in two.

_Come on, Shinpachi_ , Gintoki thinks frantically, now aggressively coughing and milking the little show for all its worth, _aren’t you meant to be the straight man? This is the time for you to shine! You’ve always lectured me on being more polite to our clients, now you can finally show Gin-san how it’s done!_

At quick glance at Shinpachi reveal wide eyes bulging so far out of their sockets, they almost appear to touch the lenses of his glasses. His voice is at least an octave higher than normal when he finally manages to speak out.

“Ah- ahh- you see, er… um… sir—oh. Oh, you are a sir, right, sir? A-a-and you want a…host?” Shinpachi frowns. “But if you’re a sir, and you want a host, then that means…” He looks up in horror and begins waving his arms in what he clearly hopes is a placating gesture. “Not that I’m judging! Of course not!”

Gintoki face-palms, disguising the action as another cough. Shinpachi continues right on, barely aware that he’s half-rambling and still holding the two broken halves of the tray in his hands as his arms keep up their wild motions.

“I believe that everyone has the right to love, human or Amanto! We don’t discriminate here at the Yorozuya! No judgement, full acceptance! Unless you’re a gorilla stalker in which case you should go die, but really! Whether it’s love for sisters or idols or even love that might seem a bit strange and unnatural at first—not that I’m calling your host love unnatural! Make love, not war, right?! Oh god, I’m so sorry, please don’t eat me—”

“What young Shinpachi-kun is saying,” Gintoki interrupts, before the thing does actually decide to eat them out of sheer offense or annoyance, “is that Yorozuya will take on any job, except _those_ types of jobs. We got kids here, oi.” He punctuates his point by flicking his fingers at both Shinpachi and Kagura. The former is still too shocked by his own revelation to have any visible reaction; the latter bites down on the digits that suddenly appear in her field of vision.

Gintoki lets out a yell.

“Oww! Goddammit Kagura!”

“You shouldn’t swear, Gin-chan,” Kagura replies innocently, releasing the man’s hand. Gintoki looks down in dismay as a small bead of blood wells up and wonders if he should go get checked for rabies. “You got kids here, oi.”

Gintoki gives her a withering look, to which Kagura responds by jamming her pinky finger up a nostril, mocking him with her unwounded hand. Sighing, Gintoki turns back to their client and is just about to kindly kick it out of their house when it tears a black hole into the air right beside its head with a wave of its hand-appendage-thing.

Right, black hellfire demon. Sitting in their office. How could he have forgotten.

The thing leans back onto its hind legs and throws half its body into the hole, curling up its wings closer to its body when the movement causes them to smack against the back of the couch.

“Should we make a run for it, Gin-chan?” Kagura whisper-talks into his ear. “If we leave Shin-chan, maybe it’ll eat him first and we might be able to get away!”

“WHY AM I THE ONE BEING EATEN?!”

“I don’t know, Kagura-chan,” Gintoki whisper-replies, “what if it decides that Shinpachi’s too skinny and bony to eat—”

“HEY!”

“—and throws Shinpachi down into its demon hole and then Shinpachi gets trapped in there for so long that he becomes part of the demon hole and every day, the demon opens up the demon hole and thrusts itself into the demon hole, which is Shinpachi—” 

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, GIN-SAN?! YOU GOT KIDS HERE, OI!”

“—and because he’s so busy thrusting into Shinpachi, we might be able to get away.”

“Ne, Gin-chan, I think Shinpachi is dying. Should we leave him here as a sacrifice and run away now?”

Gintoki turns around to see Shinpachi indeed looking as if he is dying of a coronary seizure, face red and spluttering mouth flapping like a fish on land. He expects it would only be another few seconds before the boy explodes like an erupting volcano, and he waits obligingly for the punchline of their comedic act (because the straight-man screaming never really gets old, no matter what the audience says) when the thing pulls itself back out of its demon hole. With another wave of its hand, the hole stitches itself back up and disappears, leaving the air seemingly unperturbed and entirely unaffected by supernatural powers.

Apparently the hole had been something like an inter-dimensional storage space, because as the thing repositions itself on the couch and unfurls its wings once again, Gintoki spies a small, prism-like object being held between sharp-looking talons. Presumably now comfortable, the thing extends its limb and drops the object on the table, closer to them than where it had placed the translating orb. It takes a brief second for Gintoki’s brain to process what he’s seeing.

A wallet.

A very plump, fat, full-looking wallet.

Kagura and Shinpachi watch intently as he reaches out and grabs it, wasting no time in opening it and rifling through its contents.

Jackpot.

There’s at least 50,000¥ in the main compartment from what he can count with a quick flick of his thumb through the notes. A short perusal of the card pockets reveals membership cards to some of Edo’s top retail brands and restaurants, which he should be able to brandish in front of store managers to gain freebies and discounts. He turns the wallet sideways and finds a driver’s licence and a few business cards belonging to one Akagi Daisuke, plus several credit cards, in the inner sleeves. Those are useless to him, so he’ll send them back to the owner and hopefully rack up a few karma points along the way.   

The weight of the wallet in his hands, his brain jumps like a light switch and whispers enticingly of strawberry parfaits with chocolate sauce and extra cream, thrilling bright lights and jaunty music of pachinko parlours, and the sweet burn of alcohol sliding down his throat. There’s a vague, offshoot thought that wonders if maybe he should be envisioning a timely payment of rent and a fridge full of groceries, but hey, as Patsuan said, no judgement when it comes to love, right? And he so loves his sugar, games and drink very much.

He closes the wallet with a snap and makes sure he has his serious-client-ready-sage-mode expression on his face when he looks up again.

“Yorozuya Gin-chan hereby accepts your request,” he declares, and tucks the wallet inside his kimono securely, right next to where that week’s edition of _Shounen Jump_ sits snugly against his chest.

“G-Gin-san?!”

 “Of course, with Yorozuya Gin-chan’s numerous and exclusive contacts, you can rest assured that any and all requests will be completed with the utmost of professionalism, and that all results will exceed your expectations.” He nods with all the confidence and pompousness of an elite cars salesman. “For you, dearly beloved customer, we know exactly the right people to get you acquainted with in order to find you a super sexy host, the sexiest of sexy hosts! Whether you’re looking for blonds or brunettes, tall or short, we can find just the right one for you!”

“That’s right!” Kagura pipes in, like the full-blooded Yorozuya member he’s taught her how to be, “and unlike Gin-chan, they actually know how to use their di—”

“Kagura-chan!” Shinpachi, having recovered from his impending heart attack sometime during the last five minutes, is back to glaring at them with a look that’s somewhere between disdain and exasperation.

Gintoki thinks he should protest as well, because his technique is _wonderful_ , if he does say so himself, but contrary to popular belief, he is still a responsible adult (sometimes, only when he needs to be) and he’s acutely aware of how young Kagura is despite her monstrous strength and potty mouth. In any case, it’s not in his job description as her Earth Dad to have a conversation about _that_ ; hell, he doesn’t even know if Yato anatomy is compatible with human understanding of good sexy times.

…which makes their current client a questionable one, but Gintoki hasn’t been paid to think about that little issue, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he gets to his feet and sweeps his right arm out towards the front door in an exaggerated gesture, only lightly knocking Kagura’s head with the motion.

“If our dear customer would kindly wait outside while we get ready, we’ll be with you in just a moment,” he says, smiling his 110% winning smile, all his earlier fear vanished in the face of beautiful, cold cash.

There’s a long, nerve-racking pause in which the thing appears to consult his orb again, more growling noises reverberating through the air, as if an invisible pack of angry wolves is prowling around them. A chill runs down the back of Gintoki’s neck and he suppresses a shudder as the wolves fade away, watching the thing clamber off the couch. It picks up the orb and proceeds to defy laws of nature again, tucking away the purple sphere into another demon hole. As the demon hole closes into nonexistence, the thing’s wings carefully fold themselves in to rest completely on its back. It moves on all fours across their little apartment space, the strange dark light forming its body undulating with every step, turn and shift. At the edge of the hallway, it stops and waits, unblinking golden eyes (yep, they were definitely eyes, the thing could definitely see and it was looking at them right now) boring right into them.

“Right,” Gintoki mumbles to himself, a tiny bit of apprehension creeping back as he returns the stare.

The faster they got this over with, the faster the thing would be on its way and the faster he’d be able to spend his hard-earned cash.

Steeling his determination with the thought of tonight’s oncoming pachinko adventure, Gintoki makes his way over to the thing. It doesn’t move, not even when he awkwardly skirts past it by pressing himself as close as possible to the wall to try and keep from accidentally touching it. The flicking black light could be poisonous or flammable to human skin for all he knows, though it’s more likely he’ll end farting black fire out his arse or something, considering the wacky shit he’s been through lately.

Honestly, it’s tough being the main character, he should really ask the studios for a pay raise.

He reaches the hallway unscathed, yanks on his boots so fast he actually hurts his big toe, and scrambles out the front door. The sight of the blue sky greets him.

“Customer-san!” he calls back over his shoulder, letting his voice do the little up-swing in pitch that he’s perfected over his years working the Yorozuya, modulated precisely on the border between simpering and condescending. “If our dear customer could come right this way and follow us…”

It takes a few minutes before they’re all assembled on the balcony and can get on their way, the thing’s translucent body looking even more ghostly under the direct glow of natural sunlight. It’s likely still a little too early to put his plan into action, so he wastes an hour leading their motley crew around the backstreets of Kabuki District, which, to their luck, are mostly deserted during the day. The thing lumbers after them slowly, tripping once over a fallen bin and scaring off several dozing alley cats. When the sky starts tinging with orange, they finally come to a stop outside the doors of Takamagahara, where a young man, undoubtedly a host with his pressed suit and meticulously styled hair, is wiping down the tall pillars that frame the door.

“Oi, you there,” Gintoki calls out, “is Kyoushirou in?”

The young man makes a final pass on the pillar with his cloth before turning around to greet them. “Kyoushirou-san? Yes, he is, but we won’t be opened for another—OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING?”

Gintoki scratches his head as the host jumps backwards and crashes into the shining column. “That thing? Ah, that thing is… that, you know? That thing.” Gintoki glances downwards out the corner of his eye to the thing in question focusing its glowing golden eyes on the host. “So, Kyoushirou is in, hey? Tell him that the Yorozuya are here to see him.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

The host quickly seizes his chance to get away from the thing and runs into the shop. The Yorozuya and their newest client follow him in through the swinging doors and seat themselves in one of the booths towards the back, the other hosts milling about the shop gawking at them as they pass through. Kagura, smirking like a spoilt princess, detaches herself from their group and throws herself down into a separate booth. In under a minute, she has three young men attending to all her Oronamin C needs. Gintoki briefly considers imposing a limit on the number of bottles she can have, but the thought is pushed aside when he spies Kyoushirou emerging from the staff room in his usual impeccable glory.

“Yorozuya,” he greets warmly, but his steps falter when he spies the thing sitting with them, settled on one side of the booth just as it had in the Yorozuya office. He’s clearly not the No.1 host in Kabuki District for nothing though, because he visibly regroups a second later and looks at them in interest. “How may I be of service to you, tonight?”

“Our client here is looking for a sexy host,” Gintoki says, leaning back into the booth and propping his arms up on the headrest, “so obviously we came here, to the shop where the No.1 host would be found.”

“Ah, I see. And I am to entertain your client for tonight?”

“Like we care what you and our client do. Our job ends here.” Gintoki swings himself up onto his feet. “Oi, Kagura! We’re going!”  

“Uwarghh, Gin-san!”

Gintoki turns around at Shinpachi’s loud scream and finds the thing half-disappeared down its demon hole. More manly screams fill the air, then the clicking sound of heeled shoes as Hachiro runs onto the shop floor.

“Kyoushirou-san! I heard screaming, are you alright?” As soon as Hachiro reaches them, he pushes Kyoushirou behind him. “What is that thing?!”

The thing withdraws from the demon hole with the orb from earlier clutched in its talons. As the hole closes itself up, the thing places the orb once again in the middle of the table and makes several low growling sounds. The tension in the room rises until the same scratchy voice the Yorozuya heard earlier speaks.

“ _I said… a… sexy host…_ ”

They wait in anticipation for further explanation, but none is forthcoming.

“Oh my, I do believe that your client is implying that I’m not sexy host it desires,” Kyoushirou says, not looking the least bit offended. If anything, the pretty bastard is smiling, hardly frightened at all of the terrifying walking nightmare sitting in his shop.

“Are you kidding?!” Gintoki shouts, and sticks out a finger pointedly at the blond man, “that’s the No.1 top host of Kabuki District, you know?! NUM-BER ON-NE! You’re not exactly Prince Charming yourself, oi! Just what the hell kind of standards you got for ‘sexy’, huh? You don’t think Kyoushirou’s sexy? Well, he’s sexy, dammit! Let me go home already!”

“Why, Gintoki, you think I’m sexy?”

“Oi, don’t say such disgusting things. And bring your hosts here, our client would like to make its choice.”

Kyoushirou’s smile grows wider. “You’re lucky we still have some time before we open our doors for tonight. Consider this a special service, and good practice for our hosts in meeting… unconventional guests. Hachiro, why don’t you get us a bottle of saké and two glasses? Would orange juice be alright for you, Shinpachi-kun? And Hachiro? Please call Takechi.”

Hachiro shoots Kyoushirou a doubtful look, but the top host simply settles himself in the last side of the U-shaped booth, sitting between the Yorozuya men and the thing. When the busy afro returns bearing a tray with the requested drinks, he is accompanied by a host in a dark blue suit that brings out the bright azure of his eyes. Light brown hair sweeps down his neck in a wave and bounces lightly with every step he takes. Like every other host in the shop, his posture is straight and well-balanced. He stands in front of them as Hachiro serves their drinks and bows lightly, looking up with a pleasing, if shaky smile.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight, Client-san,” he says, only the tiniest of tremors in his voice, “my name is Takechi.”

Kyoushirou hums in approval and swirls his drink. They all turn to look over at the thing. It makes an odd guttural noise that the orb translates for them immediately.

_“No.”_

Takechi’s shoulders drop visibly in relief, and he scurries away before his boss even has a chance to dismiss him.

“So not boyish charm, then,” Kyoushirou murmurs, “Hachiro, would you please call Masamune?”

“Gin-san, do you really think this will be alright?”

“Now, now, Patsuan, let the hosts do their job.”

“You’re just here for the free alcohol, aren’t you, Gin-san?”

Gintoki downs his glass in response, waving his free hand in a lazy flick. As Kyoushirou pours him another drink, Masamune, who glows with a soft olive tan offset by a washed-out white suit, approaches them.

“Thank you for your consideration tonight. My name is Masamu—”

“ _No._ ”

“Nor the holiday romance type.” Kyoushirou lets out a soft laugh. “You have a very discerning client here, Gintoki.”

“Mmm, you think so?” Already bored with the proceedings, Gintoki fiddles with the menu, flicking back and forth between its pages. He knows that Kagura has already ordered the deluxe sushi platter (he’ll be subtracting that from her wages for the month), and he’s starting to feel a bit peckish himself. “Hey, could I get kaarage chicken and the gyoza?”

“Gin-san!” Shinpachi says helplessly, “Kyoushirou-san, I’m so sorry!”

Kyoushirou waves a hand. “Don’t be, Shinpachi-kun, things are always more interesting when the Yorozuya are around. Hachiro, one kaarage chicken and one gyoza, please. Oh, and call Ryou.”

Like Takechi and Masamune, Ryou, whose violent red hair, multiple ear piercings and fiery bad boy vibe would look completely out of place in Takamagahara’s refined elegance but for the intensity of his smouldering black eyes, is summarily dismissed with a single word. By the time Gintoki’s food order reaches their table, they’ve gone through three more hosts.

“Kyoushirou, we open in half an hour,” Hachiro reminds his partner.

“Is that so,” Kyoushirou says, and his eyes gleam with the challenge.

In the fifteen minutes it takes for Gintoki and Shinpachi to empty the dishes in front of them, nine more hosts are introduced and rejected.

“Just what do you want?!” Gintoki moans, slamming down his third glass onto the table. “What does sexy even mean anymore, huh?! We’ve seen so many pretty men here, Gin-san is starting to feel insecure, oi!”

Kyoushirou props his head on his hand, perfectly manicured nails glinting beneath the shop’s white light. He’s frowning slightly.

“Ten minutes, Kyoushirou,” Hachiro says, as he clears their dishes and glasses.

The top host clears his throat and looks at Gintoki with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, Gintoki, but it looks like you’ll have to go elsewhere to find the sexy host your client is searching for.”

Gintoki groans, but heaves himself up and plucks Kagura out from her host club fantasy as Shinpachi thanks the owners of Takamagahara for their time and hospitality. The thing takes a moment before it seems to realise that they’ve finished their business at the host club, packing away its orb into the demon hole and following after them.

“Do let me know when you find your client’s sexy host!” Kyoushirou calls out as the Yorozuya and their client step back out onto the street, “I would be most interested in meeting him!”

“Ahh, will do,” Gintoki says in a drawl everyone knows means he’ll forget his words by tomorrow morning.

Outside the host club, the streets are becoming crowded as the late afternoon draws to early evening, people pulled out of houses and offices alike in the hunt for food, fun and company. The residents of Kabuki District are known for their toughness and fuck-all attitude, the area proudly called home by the various out-of-luck, mean’n’lean good-for-nothings that find bonds and self-made families in its old creaking shops and dusty roads. Yet even these tough residents scurry to give the Yorozuya and the thing a wide berth, whispering to each other behind their hands. Long impervious to behind-the-back stares and gossip, Gintoki leads their little band with his usual saunter, left arm resting against his stomach inside of his kimono.

“Gin-san, what are we going to do now?” Shinpachi asks, walking up to his boss’ side and sending worried glances at the people gawking at them. Behind them, Kagura prances about the thing, running circles around it while singing a loud, bawdy ditty about sailors returning home from the seas to the warm embrace of their geisha lovers. Dammit, Gintoki knew he should have limited her to only one Oronamin C, but listening to her song gives him an idea.

“Ahh, Patsuan,” he drawls, “what kind of Yorozuya would we be if we gave up after only the first try?”

With that, he makes a sharp turn to his right and leads them through several more twisting paths until they reach the very heart of Kabuki District’s red light zone. Although the sky is not quite yet dark, its innumerable love hotels, masseuse parlours, gambling dens, pachinko parlours, clubs, bars, restaurants and underground escort services have already turned on their neon advertisements, washing the few people loitering about the streets in a dull rainbow glow. Gintoki can’t say for certain he knows where the other host clubs of Kabuki District are, but he’s certain they’ll find something (and then he can send the kids back home with okonomiyaki for dinner and settle down for a night of good adult fun—he surreptitiously checks his shirt pocket for their, ahem, payment; yep, still there).

They’ve barely walked down two streets when they hear a familiar voice call out:

“Hey, bro! Come to our shop, we got hot chicks here. How about you there, mister? Feeling lonely tonight? Our girls are—oh, Gintoki, Shinpachi-kun, Leader, what are you doing here?”

“Katsura-san!”

As if spying a lifeline, Shinpachi hurries over to Zura, though why the boy presumably thinks wannabe terrorists wearing strawberry pink haoris and waving a sign post promising ‘ _Sexy Ladies For All Your Fantasy Adventures_ ’, complete with a picture of a lasciviously dressed girl with white cat ears and ‘ _1hr=6500¥_ ’ written in smaller font, is less headache-inducing than dealing with dark shadow demons with too high sexy host standards is clearly anyone’s guess. Catching sight of Kagura distracted by a street vendor’s sing-song promotion of flying toy spaceships, Gintoki resigns himself to more wasted time, walking after Shinpachi.

“Zura, you working here again? Don’t you have better things to do than harass innocent passersby?”

“How do you expect someone to gather men for the cause if they can’t even gather men into a shop?” Zura replies in mild affront, stepping forward and waving the shop sign in Gintoki’s face. He stops when he finally notices the thing accompanying them. “What is that?”

“It’s your brain that needs gathering,” Gintoki mutters, but Zura ignores him in favour of listening to Shinpachi explain their latest client and situation, bringing his hand up to his chin in a sagely pose.

Zoning out, Gintoki turns his attention to the subject of interest and is startled to find the thing planted right beside him, its unblinking gold eyes fixed on Zura. He feels an uneasiness creep up his spine that only intensifies as Zura steps up to them and crouches down to inspect the thing, bringing his stupid wighead forward to stare directly at its shadowy face.

“Oi, Zura,” he says in low warning, because this is the kind of random shit the other samurai does that ends with his face bloody on the sidewalk. He threads his arm back through his kimono sleeve and goes to place his hand on the hilt of his bokuto only to grasp air.

_Shit_.

He remembers with a cringe that he had left the wooden sword back at the office in his rush to get the thing out of their house, realises that he’s growing increasingly agitated as Zura and the thing continue to look at each other, and oh god, is the thing _purring?!_

He strains his ears and though it is difficult to make out over the bustle of people moving through the street, he hears it: a low, satisfied rumble that makes his skin tingle in alarm and activates his danger radar.

“Zura,” he says again, unable to hold back the undertow of urgency that sneaks into his voice, ‘cause, okay, maybe Zura could be considered good-looking to someone with wonky eyes, what with his thick sheet of jet black hair, pale skin and fine facial features, not to mention his broad shoulders and noble bearing, but please, as if Zura would make a good host with his complete lack of commonsense and the way his conversation always take a turn for the stupid, constantly running his mouth off with his ridiculous stories and overzealous ideals, so clearly there was absolutely no reason for him, Gintoki, to feel so high-strung about the situation. Any time now, the thing would lose interest in Zura and they would leave him and his stupid rebel madness and go find a nice host club with lots of sexy hosts for the thing and then he could finally settle down at his favourite pachinko parlour and blur the night away under a haze of ringing bells and lights.

Any time now.

Like, right now.

Goddammit, now!

The thing pounces.

“Zura!” Gintoki shouts, but the thing has already knocked the long-haired samurai on his back, his sign post falling from his hand and dropping with a clutter to the ground.

It takes far too long for his brain to process what he’s seeing, watching in shock as the thing’s shadowy body drapes itself over Zura like a black cloak, its previous creature-like form melting away and covering Zura from neck to ankle with its dark light. He sees Zura struggling against it, thrashing his head from side to side, and feels his chest jump in horror when a tendril shoots out from the black mass and forcefully shoves itself into Zura’s mouth.

Zura’s eyes widened, his neck spasming as the tendril keeps pushing past his lips, making a distressed choking noise as the whole thing starts wriggling its way up.

It’s that sound that springs Gintoki into action, even more than the screams that echo in the air a second later: he darts forward and sweeps up the fallen sign post, swings it like a baseball bat at the thing trapping Zura, aiming to dispel its shadow.

To his surprise and frustration, the shadow disperses where he strikes like a black wind, whipping away from Zura, the sign whistling instead through air, barely avoiding the samurai’s chest. For a split second, the thing swirls above Zura’s still-struggling body, his hands and torso still trapped under the black, legs kicking out frantically, still choking on the limb-like thing in his mouth—then it strikes back, flying like a dark comet, and rejoins the black mass enveloping him.

Zura’s eyes roll back in his head, the whites of his eyes bulging and the thin pinkish lines of his veins popping out, tears leaking out the corner. Gintoki’s blood pounds in his ears and his world narrows down to the vision of Zura choking on the ground, half the thing now disappeared into his mouth; he swings the sign again, this time close to Zura’s face, desperate to give him even a second of breath. The tendril cuts itself off from the main body but hangs from Zura’s mouth like a snake rearing its head.

It’s just enough for Zura to get a hand free, and he claws at his own face, leaving bright red scratches down a pale cheek. His efforts get weaker and weaker, and his hand drops back to the ground, nails skimming the dirt as the remainder of the shadow on his body reattaches itself to the tendril wriggling out of his mouth.

“Zura!” Gintoki screams, now in full blown panic.

“Gin-chan! Get out of the way!”

Instinctively, Gintoki barrels off to the side, barely missing being pummelled by Kagura’s umbrella as it comes crashing down over Zura’s prone figure. The black mass darts out of the way once more, and the umbrella smashes into Zura’s chest. Kagura cries out in alarm, immediately jumping back and taking on a more defensive position.

“Tch! Gin-chan, what do we do?” she asks, knees bent, ready to spring again at his word.

But Gintoki’s already charging in again, hands still clenched around the sign post, except suddenly, he’s too far away, at least four paces from Zura’s body, arching in the air from the force of Kagura’s blow. With a burst of speed, the thing shoots completely into Zura’s mouth; Zura’s body shudders, once, twice, seemingly suspended in mid-air as he violently trembles, before he drops limply to the ground like a discarded rag doll.

“Katsura-san!”

“Zura!”

The sign post slips from his grip in his shock, but momentum keeps him going; he tumbles to his knees on the ground beside Zura, grabs his shoulders and shakes him roughly, processing nothing but the whites of Zura’s dull, half-closed eyes and his greying skin.

He isn’t breathing.

“Oi, Zura, wake up, dammit!”

He’s dimly aware of a crowd starting to form around them, the witnesses in the street slowly edging forward in curiosity now that the perceived danger had seemingly disappeared. He thinks he hears Shinpachi scream out for a doctor, but he can’t really tell for the buzzing in his ears, images of Zura’s stupid maniac grins interspersed with freshly dug graves and bloodstained iron falling like an avalanche in his head.

He sees red.

“Oi, Zura, you fucker, you can’t die like this,” he growls, knuckles turning white as he manhandles Zura into his lap so he can rant directly into his face, “who’s gonna save this damned country if you’re gone, huh?! What, all those shitty speeches you made were just a lie? Where’s your rebel pride? We didn’t survive a goddamn war just so you could get yourself killed off on the street like a damn gutter rat, you know!”

A hand falls on his shoulder. “Gin-san…”

He shakes Shinpachi off, brings his face so close to Zura’s that they’re almost nose to nose. His throat is tight, his face hot, everything shaking and raw and impossible.

“Who said you could leave me again, huh?!”

It’s probably because they’re so close that he can see it: the slightest flutter of his eyelids, a muted glimmer in the sclera. It makes him hold his breath, the pounding of his heart feeling too big for his chest. Then he feels it: a warm puff of breath against his face, and suddenly all the tension and panic in his body floods away. He’s so busy feeling dizzy with sheer relief that he doesn’t even realise he’s being kissed until several long seconds later. His mouth falls open in surprise, and a tongue sweeps in and swipes at his own.

“Oh my god!”

“Gin-chan?!”

“Katsura-san?!”

“Are those two men?!”

Scandalous whispers buzzing about him, Gintoki jerks his head back, though his hands still clutch at Zura’s shoulders, not quite ready to let go.

“Z-Zura?! What the hell?!”

The man beneath him licks his lips slowly, and Gintoki feels a spike of alarm shoot up his spine again when he notices that Zura’s skin is no longer grey, but shining with a strange, ethereal glow, as if he was laying under moonlight instead the early evening sun. Gintoki blinks once, swallows down the dread pooling at the back of his head, and slowly trails his vision up to lock eyes with Zura.

A pair of golden, glowing eyes gaze back at him.

“Yorozuya-san,” Zura says, and his voice is low and smooth and completely wrong, “I must thank you; you’ve found me a most splendid and sexy host indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments highly appreciated!<3
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for all your kind comments with the first chapter of this fic! It really meant a lot to me that it was so well received! Sorry that it's taken so long to update; life, you know xD
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

“What the fuck,” Gintoki whispers to himself, unable to look away from the too-bright gold staring back at him.

The corners of Katsura’s mouth curl up, but the smile has nothing of his usual melodramatic zeal or idiotic smugness; it spreads slow and sultry across his face, a predatory grin glinting in those still half-lidded eyes. Startled, Gintoki rushes to scramble back, instinct and sudden adrenaline kicking him into gear, forgetting that the other man’s upper body is resting in his lap. The jerk sends them both sprawling awkwardly, Katsura thrown off as Gintoki tries to get his legs from underneath himself and ends up pitching sideways right into Shinpachi’s knees, arms flailing and knocking dust into the air. Shinpachi staggers backwards and Gintoki slips down the fabric of his hakama, smacking onto the ground. He lands hard on his shoulder, his vision blurring momentarily and his mouth filling with the slight metallic taste of the town’s dirt and gravel. As the puff of brown and sand dissipates, he hauls himself onto his feet, his boots scraping harshly against the gritty earth. The murmuring from the crowd grows louder, more passersby stopping in their tracks to join the wide circle around them and nosey in on the commotion.

“Gin-chan!” Kagura hasn’t lowered her umbrella, holding it close against her body, ocean-blue eyes trained on Zura laying face-down on the street, his body curled slightly inwards in a loose foetal position. “Are you okay?! Do you need to go to the hospital?!”

“Huh? Hospital?” Gintoki looks over at her, his brow furrowed. “What do I need to go to the hospital for?”

“You were kissed by a dirty wig laying on the ground, Gin-chan! You don’t know where it’s been or what kind of germs it could be carrying! If you’re not careful, your whole mouth could rot off!”

“What are you talking about, you’re the one with a rotten mouth! Where did you even learn about that filth—”

“Gin-san, Kagura-chan, is this really the time?!”

With a mental note to double check Kagura’s reading list and nightly shows for inappropriate adult material, Gintoki wretches his glare away from the Yato’s smirking face, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand until the odd tingling sensation on his lips is wiped away, and refocuses his attention on Zura—

— _not Zura_ , his brain whispers, _it’s not Zura_ — 

Unfurling from his loose coil, the rebel stretches unashamedly across the ground, head coming down to rest on an upturned hand. He watches them with an open expression of interest below the fall of his dark fringe, somehow managing to look like a sultan lounging on silk cushions instead of pebbles and dust. When Gintoki once again meets those unnervingly gold eyes, he remembers with a sudden rush of heat to his face everything that had transpired in the last thirty or so seconds. Shaking his head as if to dispel the warmth spilling into his cheeks, Gintoki takes a step forward, stomping hard on the ground and pointing an accusing finger at the figure on the ground. A hush falls over the crowd around them, necks craning in dramatic anticipation.

“You.” Katsura’s head perks up slightly at the address, eyebrows raising. “What the fuck have you done with Zura?”

A beat, the crowd holding its breath; Katsura lists his head slowly to the side, the angle and movement seeming more creature than human, a hunter assessing its prey. A smile spreads across his face again, the slightest hint of teeth between stretched lips.

“Nothing,” he answers, and the way he says the word, coy and syrupy, makes Gintoki grit his teeth, jaw clenching.

“Listen here, you bastard,” Gintoki growls, and feels both Kagura and Shinpachi react to the edge in his voice as they step up in line beside him. Realising the tension in the air, he takes a quick breath, relaxes his shoulders and forcefully drops his voice back into his usual indolent and cavalier tone. “Okay, look; I don’t really know what you’re trying to do, but if you want a sexy host, then that idiot over there? Not your guy. Seriously, he’s more trouble than he’s worth and quite honestly the furthest thing you’d want for a host. So why don’t you come back outta there and let good old Gin-san find you a proper one, huh? Trust me, we’ll find you a much better host than that wig you’ve got there.”

He pulls his own lips into a wide smile, feeling skin and muscles strain at his cheeks, and spreads his arms out in open invitation.

“C’mon, whaddaya say?”

Zura—no, the _thing_ seems to consider his words as it twirls a lock of Zura’s hair around a finger. Gintoki feels his lips twitch and tries to ignore the way his heart hammers in his chest, irritation and anxiety waging war as the seconds tick by in silence. Just when Gintoki thinks he’ll burst from gnawing anticipation, Katsura lets the hair in his hand slither out of his grasp and slowly rises up into a side sit, using his arms to push himself off the ground. A look of intense concentration pinches his face, a furrow digging deep into his brow as he brings his arms to his front and pushes down again onto the dirt. His legs wriggle awkwardly where he kneels.

Gintoki is perplexed before it hits him.

“Oi, are you—”

The shrill alarm of sirens suddenly rings out, cutting through the thick atmosphere on the street and rapidly growing louder. Turning in the direction of the wailing sound, Gintoki spies the bright red lanterns of Shinsengumi police cars speeding down the gravel street towards them.

“What the hell—” He whips his head and stares accusingly at the crowd, everyone around him immediately averting their eyes. “Dammit, who the hell called the police?!”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Gintoki closes the three steps between himself and the rebel samurai kneeling in the dirt and drops into a crouch.

“Grab a hold of me!” he shouts down at mess of hair, grabbing the man under his armpits and hauling him to his feet.

Just as he suspects, Zura—no, dammit!— _the thing_ wobbles, feet flopping about clumsily and completely off balance as Katsura’s body struggles to remain upright, finally collapsing against Gintoki’s front and leaning heavily against him for support. His hands fly up and clutch at Gintoki’s shoulders; it gives Gintoki all the space he needs to bend forward slightly and sweep Zura up into his arms in a bridal hold.

Katsura lets out a cry, gold eyes wide with surprise turning towards him, but Gintoki has no time to spare a second glance—the police cars are almost upon them, the surrounding crowd beginning to scatter to make room for the rapidly encroaching vehicles.

“Kagura! Shinpachi! Let’s get out of here!”

Trusting the kids to keep pace, Gintoki spins on his heels, manoeuvres through the people still hanging about and turns the street corner with a skid, placing his bets on the hope that no one who had been watching would want to talk to the police long enough to give any account that could imply that Joui rebel Katsura Kotarou had been anywhere on the scene. It’s the heart of the Kabuki District, after all; suspicion and aversion towards the Shinsengumi were about as natural as breathing—he doubts he needs to worry.

Running whilst carrying someone in your arms isn’t exactly the easiest thing ever, Gintoki learns—it’s awkward and clunky, particularly when the person you’re carrying is as tall and broad as Zura is. Thankfully, Zura—no, not Zura—the thing, _the thing goddammit_ —seems to catch on quickly, wrapping Katsura’s arms stiffly around Gintoki’s neck and shoulders and pressing closer so they’re chest to chest, allowing him to get a better grip around Zura’s back and under his knees.

If it had been Zura, he would have been the first one running at the first sound of police sirens.

At the thought, an echo of the rebel samurai’s maniacal laughter when fleeing the Shinsengumi rings in his ears, almost as loud and obnoxious as the man himself. His grip on the body in his arms tightens.

They race through seven more streets, Gintoki leading the way as they twist, dodge, and leap through the increasingly crowded throng, finally stumbling onto a little park connected to a side street. Though it’s barely more than a patch of grass surrounded by wooden benches, a group of kids play tag in the small area while teens and adults loiter around in singles and pairs. Gintoki quickly spots a free bench and hurries over to it, dumping his burden and then collapsing onto the cedar slats himself, breathing hard.

He gives himself a minute to catch his breath and shake out the ache in his arms, waving wearily to signal his position to Kagura and Shinpachi as they hop over the post and chain fence separating the park from the street. Shinpachi drops to the ground wheezing as soon as he reaches him; Kagura looks at both of them as if surprised by their exhaustion, scepticism apparent in the purse of her lips. As the other two Yorozuya members catch their breath, she swings between her toes and heels with her umbrella resting across the back of her shoulders, before suddenly whipping the pointy weapon round to her front and stabbing it into the ground.

“Gin-chan and Shinpachi are unfit slackers who need to be whipped into shape by the Queen of Kabuki District,” she declares. She stands with her feet shoulder width apart, chest puffed out, her hands folded over the butt of her umbrella handle in exaggerated imitation of a shoujo manga’s high school kendo club coach. “Give me another ten laps, you lazy dogs!”

When neither Shinpachi or Gintoki make a move to get off their arses, Kagura huffs disdainfully, then settles into a squat next to the Glasses-wearing-Human, poking at him with her umbrella. The Human groans in irritation, still panting from their run, and knocks the umbrella away with a tired fist. Sighing like a mother exasperated by her lazy children, she finally plonks herself down fully on her butt, digging her pinky finger into her nose as she scans the small park.

“So?” she says, sending a booger flying in Shinpachi’s direction with the flick of a thumb, “is anyone going to explain what happened back there, huh?”

As Shinpachi lets out an indignant squawk and looks over himself for booger stains, Gintoki slides his eyes over to the man—thing—beside him. Though Zura’s profile is half hidden by the straight sheet of his black hair, he can make out a slack jaw and four stark red lines dividing an otherwise unblemished cheek. The one visible eye he can see is unblinking, unmoving, not even a flutter of eyelashes in the still evening air. The whole scene looks too close to something he thought he would never have to see again, not when the streets of Edo bustled and crooned with life and sound and movement.

He lifts a leg and stamps the sole of his boot straight into Zura’s thigh.

“Oi, you heard the girl.” He kicks again for emphasis. “Explanation time.”

With a smoothness that reminds Gintoki of kenjutsu kata, the slow, deliberate pass of a familiar blade, Katsura turns his head to face three curious stares, hardly fazed at all by Gintoki’s blows.

The Yorozuya boss frowns and retracts his foot, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well?” he demands, raising an eyebrow. Not that he’s trying to appear intimidating or anything, definitely not.

Once again, seconds pass without a reply; his patience snapping, Gintoki grabs the other samurai by the front of his haori, distantly noting that they had technically stolen the outer robe from the shop where Katsura had been working.

Glancing at the blindingly pink monstrosity though, it could hardly be considered a loss.

“Oi, don’t you know it’s polite to answer when someone’s talking to you?” he asks, something feral edging in his tone as he draws them close together, refusing to play any more games. The thump of running feet and the ring of children’s laughter almost drowns out the sound of Shinpachi’s startled gasp.

But before he can get another word in, Katsura holds up his hands in a placating gesture. The golden shine to his eyes have mellowed out to the colour of wheat fields under a setting sun; the shade is so much closer to the honeyed hazel Gintoki sees in his memories, he pauses.

“Forgive me, Yorozuya,” Katsura says, though any contrition possibly intended from his words is lost against the curve of his mouth, corners raised in a teasing smirk. “I’m afraid I was… lost in my thoughts.”

Scowling, Gintoki lets go of his grip on the cheap fabric, slouching back against the armrest of the bench. Katsura takes the time to smooth down the wrinkles in the haori, though the creases remain clearly visible despite his attempts.

“Well then?” He makes one final pass over the fabric with his hands, then settles primly against wooden backrest, body slightly twisted towards his audience. “What exactly would you like explained?”

Gintoki opens his mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but Kagura cuts in.

“Are you the thing? The thing that wanted a host? Is that why you attacked Zura? Are you Zura right now? Where’s Zura then? Why did you choose Zura?”

“Kagura-chan, you can’t keep asking questions like that and not give people any time to answer,” Shinpachi interjects, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly as he leans towards the blathering girl, clearly trying to impress his words onto her.

Kagura gives no hint of having even heard Shinpachi’s attempt at interrupting, steamrolling right over him.

“Why didn’t you like any of the hosts at Kyoushirou’s shop? What are you going to do now? Actually, why did you want a host in the first place? Are you planning on doing anything evil? Are you going to take over the world? Is that it? Do you need an evil sidekick? Because if you do, then I’m the kid you need for the job! Just ask my boss, he’ll give you a great recommendation.” Nodding to herself, Kagura looks over to said boss as if waiting for him to start espousing all her virtues and employability.

Gintoki doesn’t bother to hide his groan. “Look, no one’s going to take over the world.” He side-eyes the other occupant of the bench. “Are they?”

Zura makes a soft, amused hum, bending forward to rest his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, looking as if he’d found the most entertaining show ever (which only shows off his bad taste, because only terrible people associated with such horrible characters and a fandom such as this).

Gintoki takes the noise as affirmation to his question. “Good, because I’m not wasting energy on something as bothersome as saving the world.” His face twists itself into a forlorn expression of self-pity when he thinks back to all the times he’s inadvertently found himself on world-saving quests, as if shounen series were so legitimately lacking in quality creativity that only the formula of life-threatening danger and world-threatening evil could draw in a paying audience.

Seriously, those writers need to cut Gin-san some slack; he’s not as young as the other shounen protagonists, he can’t go off saving the world whenever some madman villain has an existential crisis—he has rent and bills to pay, not to mention the black hole of a stomach he has to feed!

Besides, he thinks, still eyeing the other samurai, the world could go save itself for once; he has better things to do.

“Now answer the girl’s questions before it’s your ass that needs saving.”

Behind them, the group of kids wave and shout goodbye to each other, skipping off in all directions as the sun sinks lower behind the jagged outline of the surrounding buildings. The thing waits until the children leave, no doubt hurrying home to waiting families and laden dinner tables, before sitting up straight again, hands resting delicately in his lap.

A moment of building anticipation, Katsura looking at them contemplatively.

“I am what the people of your country might perhaps call _tenma_ ,” he says finally, and the sudden stillness of the park under the fading light of dusk makes the dulcet lilt to his words somehow dangerous to Gintoki’s ears, too smooth and polished to be anything other than a ready, waiting blade.

“ _Tenma_? You mean like the flying horse?” A slight frown crosses over Shinpachi’s face as the boy’s eyes squint slightly in concentration. “Your other form did have wings… but you looked nothing like a horse…” He trails off in a half-question, watching Katsura hesitantly.

Katsura merely looks back, his face devoid of expression.

“Flying horse?” Kagura asks, “What’s that?”

“ _Tenma_ are legendary horses with wings that can fly,” Shinpachi explains matter-of-factly, sliding into his expositor role without any prompting.

“Oh, like Pegasus Tenma from Saint Seiya!”

“No, that’s not what I—actually, wait, you’re right, exactly like Pegasus Tenma.” Shinpachi’s frown deepens, confusion at his own admittance.

“Zura, Zura! Are you a flying horse now? Are you going to grow wings? Can you fly me places?”

“Oi, nobody’s flying anybody anywhere,” Gintoki snaps, already feeling a stupidity-induced migraine swelling at the back of his head. “And you—” he swivels his neck to glare directly at the self-identified _tenma_ “—you better stop trying Gin-san’s patience and can it with all the cryptic bullshit. Get to the point already.”   

Katsura doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he’s taking the situation seriously and not laughing at them, another amused noise slipping from his lips.

“Is that what I’ve been doing all this time? Trying your patience?” A smile stretches across his face, his head tilting along to the rising inflection of his question. Gintoki fights the urge to recoil, double checking the distance between himself and the body sitting next to him, and confirming that, yes, they’re sitting too far from each other for Zura— _not Zura!_ —the _tenma_ to be able to lean in and catch him off guard again.

Even with that confirmation, his shoulders are tense, hackles raised as he assesses the man sitting across from him. His brain is still struggling to separate the appearance of the rebel samurai with the thing that had taken over him, the disjointedness between image and action setting off every alarm bell in his head. 

“Try it one more time, and I’ll grind you into the dirt,” he tries, daring to lean forward just a bit to glower into the other’s face.

“You would do that to this body? I was under the impression from all the commotion that this body belongs to someone important to you. Was I mistaken?”

“Zura’s been through worse, he can handle it. Who knows if it’ll be the same for you though, so why don’t you save yourself an ass beating and stop dicking around?”

“Err, Gin-san, is that really necessary…?”

“Quiet, Shinpachi, the adults are having a conversation here.”

“Yeah, quiet, Shin-chan, the children should go wait outside while the adults do business.”

“What the hell, Kagura?! You haven’t contributed a word to the current conversation, not to mention that you’re younger than me!”

“What are you talking about, Shinpachi? Of course I’ve contributed to this conversation; I’m the one who found out that Zura is a flying horse now, remember?”

“What, no, Katsura-san isn’t a flying horse, why would you think that? He’s clearly still human, see?”

“But you said that _tenma_ are flying horses, and Zura said he’s a _tenma_!”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it literally, Kagura. Maybe it’s like a metaphor for wanting the freedom of the open sky or—”

“Enough!”

The sharpness in Gintoki’s voice makes them jolt with surprise, both of them falling quiet and turning to look at him in a mixture of mild alarm and concern. He levels each of them with a glare, an unspoken request for them to stay silent, then turns back to the subject of discussion still watching them with infuriating amusement.

“No more word games,” he says, his voice dropping low, “explanations now.”

Katsura seems to consider him; his smile disappears, eyes starting to glimmer again with unnatural gold.

“‘ _Tenma’;_ written with the characters for _‘sky’_ and _‘devil’_ ,” he says in a monotone that makes him sound like he’s reciting the words from an especially dull textbook, eyes listing to the side. “You humans call those not born on Earth under the single name of ‘Amanto’, and yet this word alone is hardly enough to capture the vastness and sheer magnificence of the races who live in the far reaches of the universe from you, across galaxies whose names you do not know. There are those whose greatness propels them beyond the mere name of Amanto—how could you ever confine the strength of the Yato, or the cunning of the Shinra, to such a small and insipid word?”

Katsura shakes his head, as if the idea is so laughable as to warrant complete absurdity.

“My people,” he continues, chin lifting a fraction as his chest arches outwards with the slow drop of his shoulders and the straightening of his back, “can neither be confined in such a way, with a name your human tongues cannot say. We are creatures who live in a world of fathomless depth and beauty no human eyes could ever comprehend. We are one with our world, born and nurtured from its energy, and use its bounty to clothe ourselves and take on a physical form.”

His face suddenly hardens, eyebrows pointing downwards into a sharp scowl.

Gintoki tenses.

“Because of this, we are hunted by those who seek to sell us as exotic beasts, to put us in cages and trade away our freedom for mere trinkets of gold.” Zura scoffs, tossing his head back, before his shoulders slump slightly and his expression smoothes out, a strange blankness almost reminiscent of boredom falling over his face. “I was captured from my home planet, and transported to Earth to be delivered into the hands of one who would engage in the subjugation of my people for such base purposes. Luckily, the opportunity arose that allowed me to slip from my physical body and escape my cage into the streets of Edo.”

He sighs, as if the whole ordeal had been nothing more than a typical everyday inconvenience, like forgetting to put out the laundry or tripping over a rock.

“Your planet is not well suited to one of my kind; the sky is oppressive, the air shallow, the land too firm. I could do little more than take the shadow of the night to form a place of shelter for myself when your planet overwhelms me, and carve the barest essence of your tongue into a fragment of the earth to communicate with you humans. I knew that I needed to claim a body, a host if you will, if I were ever to walk freely on your planet and take back my true form to return home.”

Katsura looks up then, and graces his audience of three with a smile.

“You have aided me most admirably in this, Yorozuya, for which I thank you once again, as this body that you have found for me is truly one of merit. Even with only the short time I have spent acclimatising to it and extracting information from the soul residing with it, I can tell that its talents and experiences will be most invaluable to me in my quest. I trust that the payment I gave you earlier is sufficient for the service you have provided me today?”

He looks at them expectantly, smile still pasted on his face.

There is a long moment of silence as the Yorozuya digest the information, then all three react at once, words almost lost in their overlapping voices.

“Oi, oi, oi! What do you mean, ‘we found for you’?” Gintoki’s hands flutter up and down as if trying to wave away the accusation of responsibility. “It’s not like—”

“Wait! Wait! The shadow of the night?!” Shinpachi squawks, jumping up onto his feet and looking up at the darkening sky. “What do you mean—”

Kagura preens and tosses her head back, the strands of her fringe flying with the movement. “Oh yes, we Yato are far beyond your normal Amanto, uh-huh! And this Yato here would be—”

“—we ran into Zura on purpose! How were we supposed to know—”

“—you took ‘the shadow of the night’?! What does that mean?! Not to mention—”

“—the perfect sidekick for your quest!”

“—that idiot would be there?!”

“—we’ve already had a possession arc!” Shinpachi protests, looking beseechingly at the possessed samurai as if the simple fact of uncreative copying would be enough to end the confusing state of affairs they are currently in.

Katsura looks at the young samurai blankly.

“Err, never mind, at least I can be thankful that you’re not the ghost of an otaku.” Shinpachi sighs, shivering as if the otaku ghost was lingering around him right now, ready and waiting to take over his Otsuu fanclub.

“In any case, don’t you try to blame this on us!” Gintoki grits out, crossing his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched over protectively. “You’re the one who decided to take over Zura! Seriously, we went through like a hundred top end hosts—”

“Um, Gin-san, I believe the number was closer to maybe twenty—”

“—like a hundred top end hosts,” Gintoki repeats emphatically, “and you end up going for the wighead idiot! Just what the hell were you thinking?! Why would you do that?!”

As Katsura turns to face his blank stare to Gintoki, the silver samurai refuses to flinch, glaring back into gold eyes. Against the light of the unnatural glow, the dark twilight shadows surrounding the rebel’s face threaten to flicker like smoke and flame, Zura’s face suddenly morphing ten years younger and dimming with hollowed eyes and flecks of blood. A shiver runs up his spine and Gintoki breaks the stare, blinking hard once, and the image disperses.

“There was something in this body and this soul that resonated with me,” the _tenma_ says, placing Katsura’s hand over the middle of his chest, “a strength and… aura, if you will, that called to me.” The hand moves up, threading fingers through the long fall of Katsura’s fringe and pushing the hair back from Katsura’s face. “Also, I have spent much time observing you humans, and I have learnt what passes for power on your planet.” The blankness breaks, a sly, flirtatious smile spreading in its place. “Beauty and money.”

Somewhere in the park, a cricket chirps.

Gintoki’s body reacts viscerally before he can stop it: he jumps up onto his feet, his boots clacking against the seat of the bench, pushing off hard against the wood, and delivers a flying kick right into the smug smiling wig.

“DIE!”

“Uarghh, Gin-san?! What did you do that for?!” Shinpachi’s surprised yell as Zura goes toppling over the edge of the bench draw the attention of the people still loitering in the park, who quickly look away, clearly wary of getting involved in what looks to be an ensuing fight.  

Gintoki lands lightly on the ground, turning to address Shinpachi’s gobsmacked expression.

“Shut up, he deserved it!” He shakes his head, running his hand roughly through his wavy perm, muttering to himself. “Gah, once a wighead idiot, always a wighead idiot, no matter who’s wearing the wig.” He passes his hand through his hair one more time, then throws a withering glare at said idiot slowly picking himself up into a sitting position on the ground.

“Well you know what they say about wigs, Gin-chan,” Kagura pipes in, completely unfazed, “gotta keep them clean and straight, or who knows what kind of dirty, nasty things they’ll pick up!”

Gintoki snorts.

“Yeah, well, this wig picked up something pretty damn dirty, alright.” He stomps the three steps over to where the thing sits, calmly brushing dust and dirt off its sleeves and straightening its hoari once again, and leans over it imperiously. “Oi! What’s this bullshit about beauty and money, ah? Power? Stop shitting me, you’re not gonna get any of those with this.” He indicates ‘this’ with a hard poke at Katsura’s forehead. “Seriously, don’t make me laugh, this guy’s as ugly and broke as the rest of us. Not to mention that his face is wanted you know!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Gintoki squints, brow furrowing. “Wait, I meant not in the good way! Wanted by the police! Oi, don’t take it the wrong way, dammit!”

Katsura merely smiles again, eyes shining. Beyond him, the lamplights in the park flicker on, the few smaller restaurants lining the surrounding streets flicking the switch on their colourful signs. People are starting to move, coming and going and meeting and splitting up, setting the city abuzz with the clamour of the night.  

“You needn’t worry yourself, Yorozuya-san,” the _tenma_ says, “I have studied extensively on what passes for beauty on your planet, and how such beauty is rewarded with the money that you can exchange for whatever you want. Truly fascinating, how you humans works.” Katsura’s smile grows wider, unnatural. “We would never have devised such a corrupted system on my home planet, we’re very loving and generous, you see. And since we live in harmony with our planet and each other, we have no idea for something as insipid as money.” He pauses thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. “Still, I suppose it makes my quest much easier, to be able to use your system to my advantage. Though if it weren’t for money, I suppose I wouldn’t be on Earth in the first place.”

“Who says I’m worrying, huh?! Don’t flatter yourself!” Gintoki tsks, folding his arms over his chest and pointing his chin up in a huff. He glances back down a second later. “As for that quest of yours, you really think you can do it the way you are now? You can’t even stand up! You’ll probably get Zura’s head chopped off before you even hit the first checkpoint, and what are you going to do then, huh? Quest, my arse.”

As he grumbles, Gintoki turns and crouches down, presenting his back to the _tenma_.

“Get on already,” he says, the words coming out rough and impatient, “can’t have you wandering around unsupervised in Edo. I bet you don’t even know where to start looking.”

A second of hesitation, then arms settling shyly around his shoulders, as if not quite sure what to do.

“Oho! Is the Yorozuya going on a quest?” Kagura jumps excitedly to her feet, umbrella swinging wildly and almost smacking Shinpachi in the shin.

“Kagura-chan, please watch your umbrella!”

“Quest, my arse,” Gintoki repeats, pulling the arms firmer around his shoulders and dragging tense legs to lock tight at his hips. He stands up with a grunt, adjusting the piggyback until Katsura sits comfortably behind him. “This is just an extension of this morning’s job.”

Twin impish smiles spread out across Kagura and Shinpachi’s faces; Gintoki pointedly ignores them, and they start walking, a slow, plodding pace just like their afternoon stroll.

“We can discuss payment after,” Gintoki continues as they cross the chain-and-post fence and move onto the street curb. “I’ll let you know now that we charge a 15% interest rate for all jobs involving far-galaxy Amantos coming to Earth and taking over wigs to go on stupid quests to steal back their bodies. We also take instalments.”

A warm breath of laughter tickles the side of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I look forward to it.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun writing/research note!  
> When I was doing some research into Japanese names for evil spirits/demons to come up with a term to call the Amanto character that possesses Zura, I found three main options that seemed to fit what I was going for: akumu (悪夢), enkon (怨魂), and tenma (天魔). I realised that tenma shared the same 'sky' character as Amanto (星天人), so it seemed to me an obvious choice! A little more research into the word, and I found out that 'tenma' is also the Japanese word for pegasus, the mythical flying horse, written as 天馬 -- which is where the joke about pegasus and Saint Seiya came from, because a google search of "japanese pegasus" came up with the Pegasus character from the show, and what would Gintama be without its references and parodies of other anime? xD
> 
> (The other character who showed up was Maximillion Pegasus from YGO, lol. Also, I've never watched Saint Seiya, so~ )
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry that it was a little slow, but I promise that the set up and build up will be worth it! As always, kudos and comments super appreciated and most loved!<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves weakly* so. life's been hard. but look, next chapter!
> 
> Seriously speaking, thank you to everyone for all your continuing support. It really means so much.
> 
> Update: proofreading done! :D

By the time they get back to the Yorozuya office, Katsura—the _tenma_ , Gintoki really needs to start getting it right—has fallen unconscious on his back, arms hanging limply over Gintoki’s shoulders.

“You sure you two will be okay looking after Katsura-san?” Shinpachi asks as Gintoki makes the first step up the stairs leading to the apartment, Kagura yawning behind him.

“No need to worry your pretty head, Shinpachi,” Gintoki says, flexing his shoulders to give the man on his back a small jolt, “we’ll just put this guy to bed and call it a night. Get here bright and early tomorrow, I want to get this job over and done with as soon as possible.”

“You mean ‘quest’, Gin-chan!” Kagura corrects, swinging up the stairs after him.

Gintoki suppresses a groan but doesn’t quite manage to stop his eyes from rolling. “Yeah, yeah, sure, ‘quest’, whatever.” His voice lowers into a mutter, mouth settled in a disgruntled line. “Honestly, this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Shinpachi just responds with a small smile, too used to his boss’ grumbling.

“Alright then. Good night Gin-san, Kagura. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Shin-chan!”

“Remember to stay away from strangers and dark corners,” Gintoki calls out before turning away from the street. “Oi Kagura, get the door for me.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Kagura flicks on the lights in the hallway and the main room as she leads the way into the apartment, then falls face-first onto the couch in an exaggerated display of exhaustion. A second late, she pulls up onto her side, peeping over the headrest to watch Gintoki slide his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Are you putting Zura in your room?” she asks.

Gintoki shrugs, the movement slow and not fully discernible with the burden on his shoulders.

“Where else are we going to put him? Who knows what he’ll do if we leave him on the couch. Probably steal all our stuff and run, the bastard.”

“Gin-chan, anything he steals from here would just be trash, and anyway, it’s not like he can go anywhere until it gets its body back.”

The ease with which Kagura slips in reference between Katsura and the thing sends something slimy scuttling under Gintoki’s skin. The memory of the afternoon nudges the back of his thoughts, Katsura writhing and choking under the _tenma_ ’s unnatural darkness, that deceitful flash of _too_ gold he can’t help but already resent. The slimy thing slithers into his stomach and nestles there, twisting itself into knots.

Damn Zura and that great empty head of his, always getting himself into ridiculous situations like this. Didn’t he feel anything for the poor, goodhearted souls like Gin-chan who have to clean up the resulting mess? What kind of terrorist went around working for dodgy adult shops anyway? Was he trying to get himself killed?!

Gintoki is going to be satisfied with no less than _at least_ one parfait a day for a month from the rebel idiot for all the trouble he’s going to, nevermind that the whole debacle had started out as a Yorozuya job.

And that _tenma_! Beauty and power—in Zura?! Ha! Clearly it had to be blind.

Feeling better after his internal rant, Gintoki decides against bashing Katsura’s foot into the doorframe, which is just as well because he suddenly remembers that Kagura is watching him and he can’t very well have her tattle on him afterwards and suck even more favours out of Zura.

Those two together always make up enough noise and stupidity to give him a week-long headache.

“Oi Kagura, put the rice on before you go down to pick up Sadaharu,” Gintoki reminds her, knowing she’ll hardly notice the change in topic. He’s truly the master of subtlety.

“Will do!”

Gintoki shakes his head in lieu of waving his hand after her, finally dislodging that crawling feeling under his skin, then carefully crouches down to deposit Katsura by the wall. The man looks completely normal in his sleep, hardly a trace of the _tenma_ on his face. On impulse, Gintoki jabs a finger at Katsura’s forehead.

No reaction.

Gintoki tries a hard shake, gripping the collar of the hideous pink haori.

Nothing.

Stupid Zura. He was going to owe the parfaits big time.

By the time Kagura comes back up, Sadaharu in tow, Katsura is set up on the spare futon, divested of his haori and the outer layer of his kimono, and sleeping peacefully. Gintoki sits at his desk, dividing the money from Akagi’s wallet into three piles for rent, bills and everyday expenditures.

(He _is_ responsible sometimes, you know! Even if perhaps the piles for rent and bills are a little smaller than the last pile…)

For all that had happened in the day, their evening is as usual: dinner comes with clashing chopsticks and flying food and is put to an end only when every edible (and some non-edible) morsel is demolished and Sadaharu decides that Gintoki’s head would make a lovely post-dinner snack. The dishes are somehow cleaned through a mess of soap suds, and then there’s late-night tv and catching up on drama re-runs where Gintoki makes crass commentary about the leading lady’s lack of downstairs appeal while flicking through the pages of Shounen Jump and digging the dirt out from under his nails. Kagura takes a bath and brushes her teeth and Gintoki waits until she’s passed out in her closet of a bed, Sadaharu snoozing outside her door, before sinking into the tub of hot water himself.

The water does wonders for both his body and mind, soothing out the tension in his muscles and giving him a good hour’s reprieve from thinking about ghostly aliens and stupid quests and an even stupider terrorist. That alone is enough to make him want to sit and sulk in the bathroom forever, screw his responsibilities as an adult member of society. Eventually though, the water turns cold, and he drags his butt out of the tub with a forlorn sigh, wrapping himself up in a towel and glaring at the water as it swirls down the drain.

Dammit, why couldn’t the problem just wash itself away like that?

He scratches at his damp hair, huffing in annoyance, pulls on his sleeping clothes, grumpily brushes his teeth, then quietly (can’t be too loud, or Kagura will wake) stomps his way back to his room.

Katsura hasn’t moved an inch, might as well be dead for how absolutely still he is, laying there on the futon in his white under robe, blanket and shadow obscuring any movement of his chest.

Gintoki pads over, bare feet creaking the tatami mat floor, and places two fingers lightly on Katsura’s throat, right over the pulse point, breathes easier when he feels the rhythmic thump of Katsura’s blood strong on his fingertips.

Then he scowls, flicks the idiot’s forehead again before pulling his own bedding out of the cupboard and crawling beneath his blanket.

Tomorrow, they’ll find the _tenma_ ’s body, put everyone back where they belong, and everything sort itself out. The Amanto will be on its merry way, Zura will treat him to fifteen parfaits, and the Yorozuya will go back to taking normal jobs like fixing roof tiles and finding lost cats and stopping morally ambiguous alien businesses from taking over local dessert parlours.

Easy.

The plan whirs in his mind as he falls asleep, dreaming uneasily of too-bright golden eyes.

***

A dissonant assortment of sounds whacks about in his ears: dull knocking, rattling, the soft pad of socked feet and the accompanying creak of old wood; then the call of a familiar voice, more rattling, mumbled groaning.

Urgh, morning already.

Gintoki pulls the blanket high up to his chin, tugging it securely around his body and burrowing into its cotton warmth, a small groan slipping between closed lips.

Just five more minutes, he promises, then he’ll get up for whatever job they have today, yeah he’ll do that.

What job did they have today, again?

A minute stretches out long and doozy before his brain jerks into gear, yesterday’s events flooding back to him.

Zura. Gold eyes. Kiss. The _tenma_ , body, quest—

He jerks upright, ripping the blanket off his body and throwing his head to the side hard enough for his neck to make a small crick.

Rumpled sheets. Tossed pillow. Empty futon.

He’s out the door and staring at Shinpachi and Kagura’s surprised faces before he even registers moving.

“Oi! Where’s Zura?!”

Shinpachi’s eyes widen; Kagura stifles a yawn.

“What? Isn’t he with you?” Shinpachi asks, even as he rushes to check Gintoki’s room while Kagura climbs down from her closet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Ne, Gin-chan, are we starting the quest already? Can we have breakfast first?”

Gintoki brings his hand up to his face, thumb and forefinger pressing into his eyes as his panic morphs into the familiar bleariness of wake-up blergh in the face of Kagura’s easy morning personality, already wide-eyed and bushy-tailed despite her bed hair and rumpled pyjamas.

“It’s not a quest, it’s an ordinary job,” Gintoki grunts out. It’s too damn early in the morning for this. Okay, if he’s going, then he’s dragging everyone down with him. “No one’s getting breakfast until we find the damn thing and get him back here.”

Kagura’s eyes flash, finger pointed in accusation at Gintoki.

“Tyrant!”

Even so, the words have their intended effect: a flurry of movement and flying clothes, and they’re bursting out the front door five minutes later. Kagura jumps straight from the balcony rail onto the street, umbrella popping open wide above her head. Gintoki and Shinpachi hurtle down the stairs in leaps of two and three steps, hitting the ground with a jump. Automatically they split up, Gintoki down one side of the street and Shinpachi and Kagura down the other.

With his body thrown into action, Gintoki’s heart rate picks up again and he uses it to push himself faster, head whipping back and forth and feet pounding against the ground. The streets of Kabuki District are almost empty in the early hour, only a few cafés and corner stores bothering to open before the midday rush hour of Edo’s adult playground. It’s a good thing, considering how the morning sun diffuses everything with a soft glow that makes Gintoki squint against the light. No need to worry about crashing into random wannabe gangsters or crazy old ladies or the other kooky residents who live their modest lives along the city’s cluttered streets.

Too damn early for this, he thinks again, irritated with sleepiness. Dammit, he’s going to wring that _tenma_ ’s neck when he finds him.

…He’ll definitely find him, yeah, no question about that. He might not be in this park, or down this street, or across this bridge, or in this shopping centre, but he’s definitely around here _somewhere_. Gintoki’s just gotta keep looking, maybe around this corner—no? Okay, that one over there, yeah, he’s gotta be down there, what the hell, the thing couldn’t even stand up yesterday and now he’s got them all running off on a wild goose chase like a bunch of idiots.

Gintoki pauses to catch his breath, bracing one arm against the display window of the store he’s stopped in front of. He feels like he’s run through every inch of town, and then some. Sure enough, when he looks up, he’s not even in Kabuki District anymore, a looming sign on the next street over pointing out the direction to Yoyogi Station 180 metres away. He groans, feeling the burn in his legs just thinking about the distance he must have covered to have made it _two freaking stations_ away from their usual stop on foot, and Zura is _still_ nowhere in sight.

It’s well into the morning now, the sidewalk crowding with men and women in sleek business suits and polished heels click-clacking their way to their nine-to-retirement office jobs. Most of them grumble and shoot death glares at him for blocking their path; naturally he responds with a dull-eyed stare and a maliciously indifferent smile. He knows he’s just asking for trouble like this, but he needs to do something to distract him from the beginnings of the panic and dread trying to claw their way into his stomach.

Where to go next? Should he head back? Maybe Shinpachi or Kagura have already found Zura and they’re all eating breakfast without him back at the office. Not for the first time, Gintoki wonders if he ought to invest in a set of mobile phones for the Yorozuya. But they’ve gone along perfectly fine without phones before, who wants to be reachable 24/7 anyway, god, that would mean actually being _responsible_ and that sounds like about the worse thing ever. Yeah, screw that, he’s not going to spend his precious money just because of a stupid _tenma_. If anything, it’s that bastard’s fault that Gintoki’s been standing outside this stupid store not panicking for the last five minutes, wow, five minutes is a long time, he really ought to start surcharging for early morning work hours.

Not willing to waste any more time, he makes his way to the train station, grumbling when he realises that he needs to top up his IC card. Damn _tenma_ , he’ll make him pay for all their transport costs too, he thinks as he slides through the barrier gates and jumps onboard his train. Ten minutes later, he’s back in Kabuki District, out in one of the main shopping strips and looking perplexedly at the sight of one giant, white-haired, extremely familiar Dog God napping outside the entrance of an arcade.

Sadaharu peeks open a single eye when Gintoki nudges him awake, then greets his master with a yawn and a mouthful of morning dog breath.

“Blergh!” Gintoki heaves.

“Arf!” Sadaharu replies brightly, standing up and presenting his head for a scratch.

It’s then that Gintoki notices the scrap of pink fabric loosely wrapped around Sadaharu’s paw, wrinkled from its use as a pillow, and almost wants to slap himself for not thinking of that sooner. He gives Sadaharu a good scratch behind the ears.

“They inside?” he asks, and gets an affirmative bark.

Walking into the arcade, Gintoki realises that it’s not one he’s ever been down before—and for good reason. The shops that line the walkway are entirely of the high-end, luxury uptown street fashions that sit right at the intersecting point between trendy, weird, and downright obnoxious. Most of them aren’t even open yet, sitting in shadows despite the natural light pouring in from the overhead skylights that make up the arcade’s ceiling. With hardly anyone around except a few people hurrying through the arcade, clearly running late for work, it takes him hardly any time to spot a familiar head of red hair inside one of the few shops bright with the bustle of movement and the white-yellow glow of strategically placed lanterns.

A kimono shop of all things, Gintoki finds, blinking at the unexpected sight. To his right, a line of perfectly pressed kimonos hangs from a long rack embedded into the wall, each kimono set upon its own traditional hanger, while at his left, a counter with a cash register and a tall shelf display various accessories and items. In between them, a large glass-topped display table with an in-built shelf takes up the majority of the space on the hardwood floor, showing rows of intricately colour fabrics. Behind the table, Kagura sits on a low couch facing the back of the room which, Gintoki sees as he draws near, has been designed as an open dressing area. There, tatami mats take over the hardwood floor, stretching out to cover a third of the room’s floorspace. Two changeroom cubicles have been assembled to the left, and the entire back wall is covered in a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Standing right in the middle of the mirror, staring intensely at his own reflection, is Katsura.

But not Katsura as Gintoki has ever seen him, not Katsura that Gintoki recognises as Zura in any way. Not like this, with his long hair pulled up into a high ponytail, sharpening the lines of his cheeks. Not when he’s draped in a robe of deep crimson hanging loose over his shoulders, his white underrobe kimono making the shock of colour stand out all the more, the contrast of the red and white bringing out the gold glinting in his eyes.

Gintoki looks, and sees a demon.

Their eyes meet in the mirror. Katsura smiles, turns around slowly; offhandedly, Gintoki notices that he’s barefooted.

“Hello, Yorozuya-san,” the _tenma_ says.

Gintoki steps forward, until he’s right at the edge of the tatami mats. He knows he should be having words right now, should be demanding answers to the morning’s disappearance and why the _tenma_ is in a kimono shop of all places. But his brain is flopping uselessly, unable to even bring up the annoyance he had felt earlier. There’s too much red flooding into his vision, too much red covering the form of a person who has never worn such a bold, dripping colour in his memory.

“You.” The word comes out weaker than expected. Gintoki swallows, takes his stuttering bewilderment and wills it into irritation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Ahh, Gin-chan?” Apparently having been dozing on the couch, Kagura wakes at the sound of their voices and rouses herself, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. It’s only then that Gintoki notices a pair of woven sandals placed at the foot of the couch. After rubbing away the sleep from her eyes, she points at the _tenma_ excitedly. “I found Zura! So can we go get breakfast now? Can we go to Starbacks?”

“Starbacks?” Gintoki snorts. “You might as well eat my money. If you want to eat breakfast out, then it’s Coco’s or nothing.”

Not missing a beat, Kagura asks, “Can we go to Coco’s?”

“Fine, fine, go to Coco’s. Pick up Shinpachi on the way, we’ll meet you there.” Gintoki turns back to Katsura, who’s watching their interaction with that half-mocking, half-inquisitive smile. “And you. Take that off and put your own clothes back on so we can get out of here.”

Just as he finishes speaking, a rattling noise cuts through the room. A door behind the counter he hadn’t noticed opens and a middle-aged couple step out, each carrying two flat boxes and dressed finely in rich kimono. Their faces alight upon seeing Gintoki.

“Hello, and welcome to our shop,” greets the man, walking over and placing his set of boxes on the tatami mat, the woman mirroring him. “Are you a friend of the sir and young miss?”

“Eh,” Gintoki says, and leaves it at that.

The man’s eyes pinch slightly in mild confusion. The woman moves quickly, taking off her sandals and stepping onto the mats before sitting down seiza-style next to the boxes. Well-practiced flicks of the wrist open up each of the boxes, revealing more strips of fabric, conservatively coloured and folded into neat lines.

“Here are the obis we’ve picked out for you,” she says, gesturing to the contents of the boxes. She’s speaking to Katsura, body turned entirely towards him. “I especially recommend this one.” She points to a belt patterned with black and grey stripes of irregular widths, the shades broken up by delicately stitched braids of gold. “It would go beautifully with that kimono.”

“Thanks, lady,” Gintoki says, “but we’re just about to leave.”

Except Katsura seems to have a different idea, humming as he scans the offerings. “I will take your recommendation,” he announces to the room.

The woman smiles, lowering her gaze to the side. Her eyelids flutter.

“Husband dear, if you would,” she says, her voice unnecessarily high-pitched to Gintoki’s ears.

“O-Of course!” The man jumps to action, joining the pair on the tatami. He takes the black and grey obi out of its box with both hands and gestures for Katsura to face the mirror once more. “Please excuse me.”

As the man re-adjusts the seams on Katsura’s kimono to sit evenly on his shoulders, Kagura’s stomach growls loudly. Always one to take her cue from her stomach, she picks up her umbrella and heads out the door.

“See you at breakfast!”

“Thank you, have a good day!” calls the woman, right before the door swings shut.

Now stuck with waiting for the _tenma_ to finish whatever it’s up to, Gintoki drops himself into the vacated seat. He slouches so far down he might as well drop onto the floor, folding his arms over his chest and glaring from under his fringe. Not that anyone’s paying any attention to him; they’re all watching the man draw the panels of the red kimono over each other, then bind them in first with the obi. The knot he ties at the back seems unnecessarily complicated—why bother with so many fancy folds when you could just tuck the loose ends in and be on your way?

It does seem like the kind of knot Zura would know how to tie though, stuffy and proper just like him. Zura would probably even like it, with his outdated and terrible sense of fashion, smiling as he bows to the shop attendants and thanks them for their help.

Not look down at his reflection the way his body is doing now, staring at himself blankly. A hand reaches up to run fingers along the edge of the collar, trailing down the line of red and cutting a thumb over a pale throat.

Ten points of pain flare up Gintoki’s arms; he lets go on reflex, and the pain eases down to a light throbbing.

“What do you think?” the man asks. “Is it comfortable?”

Katsura turns slowly on the spot, arms lifting like he’s testing the weight of the kimono. “It is warm,” he says.

“It looks wonderful on you,” the woman says. The boxes have been closed and moved out of the way, giving her plenty of room to stand up, step forward, and smooth out the invisible wrinkles along Katsura’s shoulders. “Such a beautiful colour.” Her eyes aren’t anywhere on the kimono.

“Oh! Umm, darling, uh…” The man wrings his hands together. A kicked puppy dog look crosses his face, forehead creased and eyes scrunched with dismay. He’s even got a wobbling pout going, the corners of his lips turned down in a frown.

Whether she had ignored her husband or simply hadn’t heard his weak protests, it takes far too long for her to step back from Zura’s space to be considered professional. Unexpectedly, she turns to Gintoki.

“What do you think?” she prompts. “Doesn’t this look very handsome on your friend?”

Katsura takes another step forward, stopping directly in front of Gintoki. There’s a coy smile on his face and he stands with one hand resting on his hip, like some amateur in a modelling contest trying to manipulate the judges’ scores with wily charm. The image of Zura parading himself in front of what Gintoki imagines would be a panel of pervy old dudes sends an odd feeling of discomfort through him that he quickly waves away. Nah, it would be more like Zura to humiliate himself in a modelling contest with some kind of geeky dance, if not get himself arrested during question time for talking shit about the government. Yeah, that fits his mental image of Zura much better.

Realising he still needs to answer the woman’s question, Gintoki shrugs. “It’s alright.”

She purses her lips at his bland response, opens them, probably to tell him off for his lack of enthusiasm, but Katsura speaks before she is able.

“I am glad that you approve, Yorozuya-san,” the _tenma_ says, then turns to address the man and woman. “I should like to have these garments. How much money is required for them?”

The shop owners move to the counter to discuss pricing. Gintoki takes the opportunity to sidle up to the _tenma_ ’s side. Up close, he can see that the kimono isn’t a pure crimson as he thought; delicately printed onto the kimono’s sleeves and collar are flowers a single shade lighter than its background.

“Oi. You never answered my question. What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you mean to ask what I am doing here? As you can see for yourself, I am currently in the process of”—he pauses for a second, his attention seeming to list to the side; the next words he speaks are sounded out with pinpoint precision—“purchasing clothes.”

“Yeah? Do you have any money? And how the hell did you get here? Yesterday you couldn’t even stand up and I had to carry your fat arse all the way back home, and now you’re telling me that you walked for seven minutes on your own because you woke up and what? Decided to go buy a new kimono?”

“You ask many questions, Yorozuya-san.” There’s that crooked smile on Katsura’s face, like the _tenma_ simply can’t help but find humans amusing. As if they were performing monkeys for its entertainment. “But in thanks for your aid last night, I will answer them all. Yes, I do have more of your money, as I have collected many of your money pouches—”

“‘Money pouches’? You mean wallets?” Gintoki raises an eyebrow. “Just how many of those do you have?”

The _tenma_ looks surprised at the interruption. “I am unsure of the exact number, I did not think to keep count. I thought it quite interesting actually. Despite how prized and valuable money is on your planet, you humans throw it around everywhere, always rushing off to your business.”

It clicks in Gintoki’s head like someone hitting the play button on the DVD remote, and suddenly he can see the scene play out in high definition quality. The _tenma_ , in his shadowy, ghoulish form, stalking up to unsuspecting rich businessmen, who shriek in terror and hurl their wallets at it in a desperate bid for mercy before running away screaming for their lives.

“Huh,” he says.

“Yes, it is quite strange habit among your kind. Generous, one could argue, but strange.” Katsura gives a thoughtful hum that is quickly cut off. “As for your other questions—”

“Sirs?”

Gintoki and Katsura look up from their conversation to see the man beckoning them towards the counter. Katsura sits flat on his bum to put on his sandals, using his fingers to slip the straps into place over and between his toes. He gets up again only a little awkwardly, knees shaking judging by the way the kimono flutters, but he doesn’t stumble.

Still not fully used to a human body yet then, Gintoki thinks, and has no idea how to feel about that.

His steps are smoother, like he’s practised, and he walks to the counter confidently.

“Normally we would charge ¥75,000 for woven silk like this,” the man says, looking at a large catalogue he’s pulled out onto the counter, “but since this kimono has been ready-made from a previous commission that was cancelled last minute, we’ll give you a discount! ¥70,000 for the kimono, and ¥23,500 for the obi. So ¥93,500 altogether.”

“A very good price,” the woman adds, beside her husband.

“You’re kidding,” Gintoki says. That’s like two weeks’ worth of jobs, right there. Who the hell in their right mind would pay almost one hundred thousand yen for a flimsy piece of cloth? His own signature Yorozuya Gin-chan kimonos only cost him ¥5000 down at the Zunboran Tracksuit Store, and he orders them in bulk!

The woman gives him a smile that almost looks pitying. “I am not, sir. Our shop uses only the finest of Japanese fabrics that are wholly unique in print and pattern. I can guarantee that you’ll not find another piece like this in any other store. Just look at the fineness of the chrysanthemum details.” She stretches her hand over the counter and touches a kimono cuff where it rests just above Katsura’s wrist. “Beautiful.” Like before, she’s not looking anywhere at the kimono.

“But it’s still basically a hand-me-down,” Gintoki says, feeling irritation spike. He tugs on Katsura’s arm, holding it up to brandish the sleeve in front of the shop owners’ faces; the woman’s hand slips off and lands on the counter with a light thud. “You said that someone else ordered it and then they cancelled it. That means _they_ didn’t want it. So why should we pay so much for someone else’s reject?”

“It’s not a reject!” the woman says, affronted.

“Then why was the order cancelled, huh?”

The woman’s eyes narrow. “¥93,000,” she says.

“¥23,000,” Gintoki says immediately. Oh, he knows how to play this game.

The woman scoffs. “That’s practically free, and you know it. ¥92,750.”

“Okay, okay, so maybe I pushed a little too hard, who can blame a guy? ¥45,000. Half price is fair seeing that the kimono had a half-life before today.”

“Even if I wanted to sell for half price, I wouldn’t be able to because clearly you need to go learn maths again. ¥92,000.”

“What, and do your job for you? In that case, where’s my employee discount? ¥50,000.”

“Do you have a master craftsmanship in kimono sewing? No? I didn’t think so. ¥91,500.”

“But I _do_ have a mastership in business negotiations. ¥54,000.”

“That’s not even a thing! ¥90,000!”

They haggle back and forth, growing more and more heated to the point of scaring off several potential customers about to step foot inside the shop. Finally, the man can take no more and bursts into the conversation.

“¥79,500!” he says, a note of frenzied desperation to him. “We can go no lower!”

“¥79,000,” Gintoki counters, “and you have yourself a deal.” It’s still obnoxiously priced for a kimono, but goddammit, he’s invested now.

The man throws his hands up in the air before his wife can set off another round of bargaining. “Fine! ¥79,000!”

“Sold!” Gintoki shouts, throwing his pointer finger in front of the woman’s face.

The woman grumbles with her loss, but dutifully rings up the price, to her husband’s clear relief.

“Would you like me to wrap that up, or would you like to wear it now?” she asks, once more looking at Katsura.

“Now, thank you.”

She nods, heads to the cubicle, and returns with a familiar white kimono. For a second, she pauses, eyes flashing between the kimono in her arms and Gintoki, mouth pursed like she has something to say right on the tip of her tongue. Whatever it is, she seems to decide against it, taking the kimono to the counter and expertly folding it up.

“So that will be ¥79,000,” the man says, pulling Gintoki’s attention to the cash register.

Gintoki looks at Katsura, who has a hand up in the air and a look of intense concentration on his face. Any comment Gintoki had been about to make about not letting Katsura mooch off him dies when the _tenma_ ’s black demon hole materialises right over the counter top. Ignoring the yelp of terror coming from behind the counter, Katsura sticks his hand and head inside the hole, leaving his half his torso and his lower half trailing out like a decapitated fish. It’s a comparison that makes Gintoki feel sick in his stomach, relief flooding when Katsura pulls back out, a wallet in his hand. It's thinner than the one the  _tenma_ had offered the Yorozuya, and sure enough, there’s not enough to pay for the kimono. The demon hole gets summoned again, Zura's head disappears, the process repeating itself four times before he can hand over the bargained amount to the shop owners, leaving four more wallets emptied of their cash on the countertop.

As the man counts over the money again with trembling hands, Katsura reaches for the back of his hair.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the woman says faintly. “You can keep it.”

Katsura smiles. “Thank you.” Huh, Gintoki hadn’t even wondered where Katsura had gotten the hair tie.

The cash register dings, a receipt gets printed, Gintoki's pilfered kimono is put into a fancy bag emblazoned with the shop’s name, and both items are passed over. Katsura receives them with a nod and then they’re being bowed out of the shop, door slamming behind them and a sign reading, ‘On break – Back in 15 minutes’ slapped up. Outside, the traffic in the arcade has picked up, people milling about and browsing now-open shops.

“Let’s go,” Gintoki says, pulling them into the flow of the crowd.

The walk to Coco’s Family Restaurant is thankfully short. Gintoki’s stomach rejoices as soon as they enter the family restaurant, the smell of fried eggs and bacon making him salivate after all the morning’s hard work. They find Kagura and Shinpachi seated by the window, their table already laden with greasy plates.

“Gin-chan!” Shinpachi calls, when he catches sight of them, waving them over with a forkful of potato. Kagura doesn’t bother looking up at their approach, too busy inhaling a mountain of scrambled eggs and toast. “Katsura-san…?” Shinpachi’s greeting trails off as he takes in the new kimono.

“Hello, little Yorozuya-san,” Katsura says in return, to Shinpachi’s surprise.

“Come on,” Gintoki says, tugging Katsura to the buffet area. “Breakfast. Dunno about you, but I’m fricking starving.”

He grabs two plates, shoving up one at Katsura who takes it with an expression of mild confusion. The bag from the kimono shop is still hanging from his other hand, making Gintoki tut his tongue.

“Never been to a buffet before?” he guesses, and when the expression of confusion doesn’t go away, he sighs at his rotten luck at having to suddenly play caretaker to his demonic Amanto possessed friend. “Alright, with me. Seriously, stay with me. If you’re not in my eyesight at all times, we’re going to have words, you hear me? Good? Good.”

With that, he leads them through the buffet options, piling both their plates high with everything that catches his eyes. They get back to their table just as Kagura is leaving, no doubt to embark on her second, maybe even third, round of the buffet. A waitress comes over and clears Kagura’s empty plates, and finally Gintoki can relax for the first time since waking up as he settles into his chosen chair and shoves a cream-slathered waffle into his mouth. To his side, Katsura struggles with his chopsticks.

“Ah, here, try this.” Shinpachi offers a spare fork from his side of the table.

Katsura takes the offered utensil and finally scopes up some rice. He chews it, his eyes lighting up as he swallows. “Oh,” he says, an unnecessary amount of awe in his voice for a mouthful of rice.

“Guessing they don’t have rice back on your home planet,” Gintoki says in between bites of strawberry jam on toast.

“No,” the _tenma_ says, “my kind do not require the intake of sustenance in this way that you humans do. What do you call this process?”

Gintoki answers in a dry voice like walking aliens through human bodily needs is something he does every day. Which, thinking about the path he’s taken in life, might actually be the case. “It’s called eating. Do you _tenma_ Amanto not eat? Do you just go sucking nutrients from around you like a parasite instead? Is that what you do?”

A faraway look passes briefly over Katsura’s face. “Ah, yes, I see it now. Fascinating. I had wondered what the hollow sensation in this body was over the morning. And eating is something you must do regularly, yes?”

“Er, yes, it is.” It’s Shinpachi who answers, doing his best with his young, boyish eyes not to gawk. “So, um, you don’t need to eat, Amanto-san? And where were you this morning? We were worried when we couldn’t find you, you know!”

“My apologies, little Yorozuya-san. I had simply wished to apply what I had learnt from this soul’s memories and explore the area of your dwelling. Your… home.” The last word is uttered carefully, with that same deliberate intonation as in the kimono shop. “I found myself further afield than expected, and was spotted and invited to sample some of your planet’s fashions.” He rises his arm, to better show off his new kimono. “From Yorozuya-san’s effort in negotiating this piece's price, I am well assured that it was worth it.”

Gintoki snorts. “Yeah, right, next time someone tries to convince me that my kimono is worth ¥93,000, I’ll run across the street naked.”

“¥93,000?!” Shinpachi repeats, almost outraged by the sheer amount. He subsides a second later, looking thoughtful. “Although I’ve heard that the most expensive kimonos can costs millions, you know, the ones considered to be part of Japanese cultural heritage.”

“Bah,” Gintoki says, “the working man can’t eat cultural heritage.”

“Yeah!” Kagura jumps in, also taking the moment to jump back into her seat and set down a new plate stacked high with muffins. She takes a large bite of one and speaks with her mouth full. “If the working man can’t eat it, it’s no good!”

“And speaking of work, it’s time for you to do your part.” Gintoki looks at the _tenma_ dead on as he says this.

Katsura tilts his head quizzically. “What do you need me to do?”

“Your body that you said got taken—we need more information than that. You got a picture, a place to start looking? We can’t go running around all of Edo like we did looking for you this morning. We work smart, not hard—”

“We really don’t work hard at all,” Shinpachi mutters under his breath.

“—so you gotta help us out here.”

“Of course,” Katsura says, setting his fork down on his half-eaten plate to begin gesticulating wildly in the air. “My people are one of tremendous beauty, the depths of which no other race can comprehend—”

“Blah, blah, blah, yeah, we heard that all last night, beauty smeauty. Seriously, work with us here. You got wings and claws like you had before”—Gintoki gestures towards Katsura’s body, for some reason unable to mention the possession out loud—“this?”

“Ah, you are asking if my physical body is similar in appearance to my soul-shape? Then yes, you would be correct in saying so. We build our physical bodies after our soul-shapes, after all.”

All three Yorozuya are looking at him now, the same expression of incomprehension on all their faces.

“Right,” Gintoki says, then swivels his head around to call for a waitress. “Excuse me, could I get a pen here please?”

They spend the rest of breakfast eating the restaurant out of profit and taking turns drawing their best impressions of the _tenma_ ’s shadow form on paper napkins.

“Okay,” Gintoki says, when their artistic endeavour has reached its high point and they have three vaguely similar sketches where the difference between wings and legs is at least identifiable. “So you definitely don’t remember where you first landed on Earth?”

Katsura shakes his head. “I am afraid not, I was weakened and too busy escaping to take in my surroundings.”

“Then I guess we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

They pay for their meal to the restaurant manager who looks at them with despair and terror, and then they’re back out on the streets again, now moving as a group as they begin their search for the _tenma_ ’s body.

Without a starting point or any sense of direction, they can only wander aimless and helpless with the hope that their efforts will lead them somewhere. Yet despite asking almost everyone they come across, no one is able to give them any information about any alien bodies that happen to be laying around. Half the people they speak to look at them like they’re crazy, and twice they encounter Amanto conspiracy theorists who take up way too much time trying to convince them that the Earth is a giant food factory for Amanto and that all the Earth’s world leaders are actually Amanto in disguise. (Katsura grins wildly at the second one; Gintoki pulls them all away as far and as fast as possible.)

Lunch comes as a much-needed pit stop, recharging themselves with convenience store bentos, sandwiches and dango they eat in the park, and then they’re back at it, though their sketches are now covered with varying amounts of sweet syrup stains. It’s not until the sky starts to darken and the evening rush begins to crowd around them that they admit defeat for the day, feet aching and throats parched.

Even knowing that the first day on a new job never quite turns out as planned, frustration and apprehension form lumps in Gintoki’s chest, growing heavier with every glance at Katsura. He had noticed early on a change in his walk: where the Zura in Gintoki’s memory strolled with smooth, gliding steps trained through years of swordsmanship, the _tenma_ prowls, an almost animal motion to the swing of his hips and the tread of his feet. The red kimono hadn’t helped, the thought of _demon_ constantly coming back and taunting him.

But no.

Not Zura.

Not the brightest, most disciplined, most gentle of Shouyou’s disciples.  

“Gin-san?”

No, not like Gintoki who took on a demon’s mantle in mad desperation, nor like that half-sized bastard who threw his lot in with the self-named demons in mad rage.

Not Zura. He won’t allow it.

“Gin-san?”

This time he registers his name being called, blinks rapidly as if that will wipe out his thoughts and looks up to see Shinpachi, Kagura and Katsura staring at him.

“What?” he asks.

Both Kagura and Shinpachi switch their gazes to Katsura, who says, “I said that I would like to the golden-haired man before yesterday again. To thank him, and fulfil his request.”

It takes Gintoki a second to figure out what the _tenma_ is talking about, and when he does, puts up a token protest for the sake of complaining before rerouting them towards Takamagahara. They reach the host club and walk in to see that already a cue of women standing around in groups is lined up before the club concierge, their laughter and high expectations for the night making the club’s foyer buzz with energy. The same man who had met them outside the club yesterday attends the ladies now. His eyes light up with recognition as the Yorozuya approach, lingering on Katsura before sliding to Gintoki. The noise in the room falls to a low murmur.

“Are you here to see Kyoushirou-san again?” the host asks into the sudden quiet.

“Uh-huh,” Gintoki says.

The host nods. “Just a moment, ladies, I’ll be right back. Yorozuya, this way, please.”

The volume in the room rises just as suddenly as it had fallen, but they leave the foyer behind them before Gintoki can make out the reason for the shift in the atmosphere. He shrugs it off as a female thing, bringing his attention just as they reach Kyoushirou’s personal booth. Kabuki District’s No.1 host is doing what he does best, smiling his perfect smile and pouring his client a glass of champagne with perfect grace.

“Excuse me, Kyoushirou-san? Forgive my interruption, but the Yorozuya are here to see you and you said to let them through no matter what you were doing.”

Kyoushirou carefully tops off his client’s glass before responding. “Thank you, Daisuke-kun, you may return to the front now.” He places the bottle of Dom Perignon on the table, then takes hold on his client’s free hand. She blushes. “It breaks my heart to lose even a second of our time together, my sweet angel, but I’m afraid my earthly duties call me at this moment and I cannot turn them away. Will you wait for me? I will make sure that my people take the greatest of care with you.”

“Of course, Kyoushirou-sama!” she says eagerly.

“You are too good to me, sweet angel. I will call for you as soon as I am able.” He waves a hand and immediately another host appears, offering the client his arm and leading her away to a different booth. Only when she is seated and sipping at her champagne does Kyoushiro finally turn around. “Yorozuya, welcome. I—”

Whatever he had planned on saying seems to die in his mouth, his handsome face freezing. His eyes, Gintoki finds, following their line of sight, are on Katsura. Something flips in Gintoki’s stomach, but before he can work out what it is, Kyoushirou clears his throat and gestures for them to take a seat at his booth.

“Excuse me,” he says, as they pile into one side, “I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.” His gaze turns back to Katsura. “And you must be the lucky host.”

That coy smile again, Katsura’s face lighting up. Under the white chandeliers of Takamagahara, his eyes shine like new-polished gold. “Yes. I am here to thank you.”

“Thank me? What for?”

“For your generosity. And your professionalism. I have not met many as quick of mind and manner as you.”

Kyoushirou laughs. “That is a very high compliment! Really, I’m flattered. And curious too. What did the Amanto want with you? And if you don’t mind me asking, which shop do you work in? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the area before, and I wouldn’t be doing a very good job of being one of Kabuki District’s top hosts if I didn’t know who my rivals were!” He laughs again. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself, we haven’t even made our introductions yet! I’m Honjou Kyoushirou, owner and No.1 at Takamagahara.”

“Katsura,” the _tenma_ offers. Gintoki’s teeth grind together. “I work for no shop, only myself.”

“Yourself?” Kyoushirou’s voice is sympathetic. “I remember those times, it’s always hard starting out and establishing yourself. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Kyoushirou-sama?” It’s Daisuke, back and wringing his hands nervously.

“Daisuke-kun? What is it?”

Whatever it is, it’s apparently private, because Daisuke leans down to whisper in his boss’ ear. When he pulls away, a wide grin splits Kyoushirou’s face.

“Katsura-san,” he says formally, “how would you like a job at Takamagahara?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing & Research notes;  
> •  So if you google maps Kabuki District, it's actually tiny? I made google give me the route from one side of the district to the other, and apparently it's only a 20min walk, which actually, that sounds about right hm (my city's Central Business District area is about 20min walk end to end)   
> •  There's a Samurai Museum in Kabuki District! As an inside joke to myself, I decided that the Museum would make a great address for the Yorozuya (it's fun to think that the Yorozuya office got converted to a museum memorialising samurai in honour of Gintoki), lol  
> •  Which makes the closest train station to the Yorozuya the Seibu-Shinjuku station, two stops down from Yoyogi station on the Shinjuku line  
> •  Starbacks = parody of Starbucks  
> •  Coco's Restaurant is a chain of family restaurants in Japan. According to [this website](https://favy-jp.com/topics/1047), they do cheap breakfast buffets (why does Starbucks get a parody but not Coco's? ...idk)  
> •  Anyway, so kimono making is super complicated and researching the difference between traditional and modern kimono industries and trying to find a balance between them that would fit the Gintama alien-tech Edo-period world was a struggle/// From what I gathered, today most department stores/high end kimono shops display the fabric options you have to make a kimono, you pick which one you like, then you pay for the fabric, and it gets taken away to be sewed into a kimono, typically ready to be picked up from 8hrs - 2days after the purchase of the fabric. Obviously Katsura needed a ready made version though, so he got one. If you're interested, here are some of the pages I pulled info from: [this](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/japan/8082875/Kimono-making-in-Japan-is-a-dying-art.html), [this](http://www.howdesign.com/design-creativity/how-to/kimonomaking/), [this](https://www.nytimes.com/1982/08/29/travel/all-about-japanese-kimonos.html), and [this](https://kirikomade.com/blogs/our-fabrics/54318979-how-kimonos-are-made)  
> •  re: the chrysanthemum pattern on Zura's new kimono, yes, I did need to chuck a gay reference in there; no, I'm not very subtle, but hey, I think it's funny!
> 
> *collapses*
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and I shall see you next!<3


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